


To Catch a Wolf

by Glittering_Darmallon



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair is Police Constable, Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Getting Back Together, Horror, M/M, Pre-Slash, Werewolf Surana, Zevran is Van Helsing, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 05:24:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16469594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glittering_Darmallon/pseuds/Glittering_Darmallon
Summary: Zevran is a renowned monster hunter, hired to hunt down and kill a monster responsible for the deaths of five people...so far. Along the way, he runs into an old friend, an old flame, who just happens to be a werewolf. What's a hunter to do?





	To Catch a Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luffymarra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luffymarra/gifts).



> Because this was a pinch hit fic, I wrote this in three hours. Gave it my best, but I didn't have time to beta.

“Given your penchant for show--oh yes, your reputation precedes you, Mr. Van Helsing--you can understand our hesitation to even contact you for this job.”

 

“Of course,” Zevran said, keeping his tone even.

 

“This requires your utmost discretion. The last thing this city needs right now is a panic, and I assure you, if you go off,” the man with the austere face turned to his advisor...attendant...hell if Zevran knew, “what was it you said, Rendon, ‘Go off, half-cocked’?”

 

“Yes, my Lord. That is, indeed what I said.”

 

Zevran folded his arms across his chest. Would these two get to the point already? There was intriguing, delaying the reveal for emphasis and there was beating around the bush. These two men, clearly had no talent for the former. “You’d like this investigation conducted with a bit of subtlety and subterfuge? A delicate touch?”

 

The man, Loghain, Zevran thought his name was, banged a fist on the table. “No games! I want this creature found and taken care of, and I do not want the whole city to know about it! Do I make myself clear?”

 

Zevran feigned annoyance and didn’t meet Loghain’s eyes, choosing instead to use that moment to inspect his fingernails. They could do with a good filing. “As crystal.”

 

The other gentleman, the one with the prominent nose, slid a case across the table. “This is your advance. You will receive the other half upon completion.”

 

Before taking the money, Zevran studied this Rendon fellow. He was clearly nobility; that much was obvious by the fine red and gold silk doublet and sash. Yet, there was something dubious almost sketchy about the man. Zevran couldn’t put his finger on it, but he’d been at this job a while now, and you didn’t survive long if you didn’t possess good observation and perception skills. No, he might not know what it was, but Rendon definitely had some skeletons in his proverbial closet. Zevran would bet his life on it.

 

Still, he had a job to do. He bid the two men adieu and sauntered out the door with the thrill of the chase giving him a natural high.

 

***

Tonight was a chilly one, complete with a thick fog that had rolled in around dusk. Clouds obscured the moon, but Zevran was no fool. Visible or not, there was a full moon in the, so he’d have to keep his guard up.

 

After checking into his room in the local inn two days ago, he’d spent the better part of that time, casing the area around both crime scenes. A meeting with the Constable proved illuminating, but not because of anything said. Good Lord the man could ramble, talk a lot but say nothing. Still, for as ineffective a conversationalist as Constable Alistair had been, he took meticulous notes. So there was that. 

 

… _ “I have my journal right here, not that you might want to take a look at it, a renowned monster hunter such as yourself,” Cst. Alistair said. “I feel like I’m rambling. I am aren’t I? I’ll just be going Yes, I’ll just...go.”  _

 

_ Before Cst. Alistair could wander off to do other police business, Zevran leaned forward and plucked the journal from his hands. “I, would, in fact like to take a look at this. I bet it is an invigorating read. In case it isn’t, you wouldn’t be the kind of person to make risque doodles in the margins would you?” He scrutinized Cst. Alistair. “No, I don’t suppose you would be. Such a shame.”... _

 

Zevran had spent that evening looking through the notes, crime scene sketches, and witness accounts. Based on the autopsy reports from the coroner and the tracings of the bite wounds, he could say with absolute certainty, that he was hunting a werewolf. The legends of the region, after all, were filled with stories of wolf-men terrorizing the town. 

 

All that research had led him to here. Where was here, precisely? The alley across the street from the local brewery, because it was smack dab in the middle of all five murder sites. He’d perched himself up on the ledge of a second story window, high enough up to not easily be seen, but still close enough to the ground he’d be able to jump safely if need be.

 

Yet, he’d been here for hours and heard nothing, seen  _ nothing _ . He was torn. On one hand, he hoped the wolf would show themself so Zevran could confront the problem head-on. On the other, he wanted the wolf to have left town. The people of the city were on edge enough. Another murder at the hands of this monster would likely break them.

 

From the alley kitty-corner to the brewery, Zevran heard a faint rattle. Perk of elven hearing; it helped with the job. He was light on his feet as he dropped down to the sidewalk. Years spent creeping in the shadows, meant he landed without a sound, moved across the street just as softly, and into the alley without so much as a peep. In all likelihood, he knew it was probably just a stray cat rooting in the garbage, but it never hurt to be thorough.

 

However, there at the back of the alley, stood a person, unmistakenly lycanthropic. Zevran’s hand flew to his shotgun on his hip. “I know what you are, and I know what you’ve done. You’re a killer, a murderer, and I am going to stop you.” He moved down the alley at the wind’s speed. Should he have fired first asked questions later? Probably, but old habits die hard, and he liked to see the faces of those he killed. Call it a character quirk.

 

Rather than defend himself, the wolf threw up both hands in surrender. “I swear I haven’t killed anyone. During the full moons, I lock myself in the sewers. I swear on the Maker. I only came up just a minute or two ago. I didn’t bring enough to eat tonight. Thought there might be some bread in the dumpster.” the wolf’s speech was slow, slightly garbled, but understandable.  

 

Zevran grabbed the wolf by the wrist and pulled them towards the streetlamp to get a better view. One whiff was all it took for Zevran to believe that this person had at least  _ been _ in the sewers. So they’d been telling the truth about that. 

 

Once under the light, Zevran inspected the wolf with great care. “Could you do me a favor?” he patted his pockets for something suitable, settling on Cst. Alistair’s journal. It was leather-bound, it would work fine. “Please bite down on this? If what you say is true, then your teeth won’t match.”

 

The wolf eyed him with suspicion but obliged. Though Zevran didn’t have a ruler on him, he could easily tell this wolf was not the one responsible for the deaths. That didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous. “Thank you. I believe you. However, my thoughts will mean nothing, if I let you go and you attack someone.”

 

The wolf’s eyes went wide, both in fear and was that  _ recognition _ ? “Zevran! It’s you! I haven’t ever hurt anyone! I promise! Please don’t kill me,” they begged. “Ten years ago I said the same thing, and it is as true today as it was then. You, you  _ know  _ me, Zevran. Please.”

 

Those words threw him for a loop. “That young wolf in...Redcliffe? Surana?”

 

The wolf,  _ he _ Zevran corrected, nodded. “Come; you can keep that gun trained on me, and you can lock me up, but I swear I am not lying.”

 

Zevran followed Surana’s advice all the way down to his “holding cell” in the storm sewers. “See?” Surana asked as he locked himself back inside. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything to eat in there, would you? I’m starving.”

 

Zevran pulled a leftover biscuit he’d saved from dinner and his wineskin, passing them both through the cell. “I have to go hunt for a guilty werewolf. Please don’t leave this cage. I do not want to kill you, old friend.”

 

Before Surana could respond, Zevran beat a hasty retreat back to the surface and fresh air. Seeing him again, drummed up feelings he’d long since buried. Yet, he remembered that day ten years ago with total clarity.

 

... _ Zevran chased after the werewolf, had been chasing him, for what felt like ages at this point. Finally, the wolf either grew tired or gave up, knowing running to be futile. Zevran slammed into it with full force, making it stumble back into a wall. That should not have happened. If anything, Zevran should have bounced off. He’d told his trainers that sending him after werewolves was a terrible idea. He was far too slight to take on something as strong as a werewolf. For him to even sent the monster stumbling meant… _

 

_ “Are you a new wolf? Young? An elven born, but bitten wolf?” _

 

_ Large, green eyes stared back at him, eyes full of fear, not rage. Damn it all, his first job as a hunter and they’d sent him after a child. _

 

_ “Not so young,” the wolf struggled to say, “my first moon since the bite. I don’t know what to. I have nowhere to go. Hide me, please,” the wolf begged him, sounding on the verge of tears…. _

 

Against his better judgment, Zevran had taken pity, worked with the young man (thankfully,  _ not  _ a child as he learned the next morning) to learn control during the full moon. They grew close over that month. Too close, and it had been with a heart full of regret when Zevran fled town. 

 

“Why’d you leave? You were my friend...I was alone...I-”

 

Zevran sighed. “Because I didn’t want...If you’d lost control and killed someone, I didn’t want to be the one to have to take you out. I still don’t.”

 

“You shouldn’t have left. I was calmer with you around.”

 

“I’m sorry. I’ve thought about it a lot over the years.” His posture sagged. “But I’m afraid, once again I must leave. Though it’s not you, there  _ is _ a murderous werewolf roaming the streets and I must find it before it strikes again.”

 

***

 

“Brasca,” Zevran growled. After leaving Surana alone down in the sewer, he’d continued his stakeout. His hunch had been correct, but too precise. While he watched, he’d heard a bloodcurdling scream from four blocks over. By the time he’d arrived, the werewolf had taken its sixth victim.

 

Cst. Alistair rapped his head against the stone edifice, not hard enough to hurt, but more for emphasis, Zevran imagined. “What’s the point of a monster hunter, if you can’t stop the monster before they kill? Where were you?”

 

“Exactly where I said I was going to set up my stakeout. As it turns out, our mysterious werewolf doesn’t possess an interior compass as exceptional as mine. Right time, slightly wrong place. What can you do?”

 

“What can you-” Cst. Alistair caught his arm and pulled him over to the deceased. “ _ That. _ is.a.person! And you make jokes!”

 

“Correction, my dear bumbling constable. That  _ was _ a person.” Zevran bent down to inspect the body. “Was her hand curled like that when you arrived?”

 

“Curled like wha-” Cst. Alistair knelt down to look. “Oh that. Yes, we hadn’t had a chance to go over the body yet.”

 

Something seemed to be sticking out of the victim’s clenched fist. “May I?”

 

“If you think it will help.”

 

It took a great deal of effort and several minutes, but Zevran managed to pry open her fingers. There, in her fist, was a swatch of familiar red and gold silk, torn as though it had been ripped right off the garment. If his hunch was correct, it would be the first werewolf he’d come across who remained clothed while shifted. Of all the pretentious things…

 

“Follow me, Constable. We are looking for a werewolf wearing what is likely the tattered remains of a red doublet. And I have a suspicion, he fled  _ that _ way,” he said pointing towards the rich neighborhood of town.

 

***

 

“Well talk about anti-climactic. All that suspense and the man is passed out just inside the front door, which he didn’t even close?” Zevran rubbed his temples. He’d really been hoping for a fight.

 

As he suspected, a werewolf lay on the parlor floor of the estate of Rendon Howe, still wearing what remained of a ruined doublet. “You’d think someone this rich would have enough shirts to go a week before wearing the same one.”

 

“Wait. You can’t be serious. Rendon Howe, Arl Rendon Howe, is a murderous werewolf? Are you sure this wolf didn’t just crash through this door looking to hide?”

 

“And through the front gate, and down the long winding path? No, no. This is our culprit. I’m sure of it. Stick him in a cell, and by morning, you will have your answer. Now if you’ll excuse me, I would like to go to bed.”

 

Zevran strutted out and continued his strut all the way back to the storm drain culvert that led to Surana’s hideout. He arrived just as the sun was coming up. “Surana, I have returned. Safe from harm and victorious.”

 

To the surprise of no one, he found Surana asleep on the floor, completely naked. “Tsk, tsk. Not a good look for you, my friend.” As Zevran tried to help him off the floor, Surana stirred.

 

“Zevran?” he asked, his mind clearly still cloudy with sleep. “So it wasn’t a dream?”

 

“No. Come on. Get dressed. You are coming with me. I’m going to feed you.”

 

Surana wriggled out of his grasp. “No!  You left. You walked out...in the middle of the night. You didn’t even write!”

 

With a resigned sigh, Zevran let down his guard. “I was a coward. I liked you. More than I should have. More than was wise given my profession. I just wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I was your downfall.”

 

“And so what? You just happen to be hired in the town I now call home, and you think I will forgive you? Just like that?”

 

Zevran chuckled. “No, you’re too clever for that. But if I may...I’d like to earn your forgiveness? You weren’t the only one who was lonely. In truth, I thought of you often, missed you terribly, and regretted every step I took away from you. So, can I at least try?”

 

Surana grabbed his discarded clothes up off the floor. “It had better be a damn good breakfast. A feast fit for a king.”

 

“For you, my dear friend, of course.”


End file.
